


Restoring Balance

by TheWhiteLily



Series: The Spaces You Leave Behind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And John of course, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, Gen, It's all for Rosie, POV Mary Morstan, Parentlock, Stream of Consciousness, Well that's the closest tag I can find anyway, end of life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 06:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWhiteLily/pseuds/TheWhiteLily
Summary: Mary doesn't want to go.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Final Problem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9928010) by [Winds of Dawn (WoD)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoD/pseuds/Winds%20of%20Dawn). 



> Many thanks to Winds of Dawn for inspirational writing, for permission to add another companion piece to the series, and for the beta.
> 
> For the fan_flashworks prompt "Mending".

Oh, John, I don’t want to go.

I want to _stay_.

I want to be here, breathing in Rosie’s milky sweetness in the middle of the night as I try to lay her back in her crib hoping, _hoping_ ,that this will be the time she settles. I want to lie awake listening for the next inevitable cry; I want to face each day on four hours sleep and see her smile and tickle her until she’s giggling and know it’s all worthwhile.

I want to be there for her first birthday, stopping her pudgy hands from grabbing the candle, laughing as she squashes cake in her fists. I want to hold out my arms to catch her as she learns to walk; I want to watch her tripping around the house in a frilly pink dress and the heels she’s dug out of the back of my wardrobe and every strand of beads she can find. I want to show her how to shoot a gun; how to kick a man so he stays down and never lays an uninvited hand on her again.

I want to stay with her and _be_ her mother until she stretches her wings and flies on her own. I want to stay with _you,_ until we’re grey and old and it’s just me and you and Sherlock sitting in our rocking chairs in a cottage in the country remembering the good old days. You, slowly typing away, writing up a book full of adventures too ridiculous to be believed; Sherlock, deducing between the lines of Rosie’s letters and solving crimes via email; me, baking bread and cable-knitting cream-coloured jumpers for our grandchildren.

But can’t you see? I’m already dead.

Killing Magnussen was never meant to be more than a temporary solution, a way to buy enough time that I could place our baby in your arms and leave you something—some _one_ —to remember me by.

I’ve lived in the shadows for so many years: a half life, hiding from my past, changing my name and moving on whenever someone recognised me. But with a family tying me down to one place and one name, with _Rosie_ … I can’t hide. I tried to run, tried to lead my enemies away from you both….

But Sherlock was right. Ajay followed _you_ , not me, and if you hadn’t tracked me, in the end I’d have done nothing but leave you exposed.

And _you_ were right. I’d rather be here, facing the danger of every second as my time runs out, than live a lifetime in the shadows alone.

Now, when I have so much more to live for, is when it’s most important to make sure I don't miss out on a single day. Now, when I have so much more to live for, is when it’s most important to remember that those days are numbered.

Today, tomorrow, next week….

One day, John, the bullet will come for me.

If I’m lucky, it won’t go through you or Rosie to get to me. If I’m _very_ lucky, it won’t even go through Sherlock, despite his best efforts to shield me.

Because you need him, you and Rosie. You need him, just as he needs you.

I love you, John, and I loved you long before Sherlock came back, long before I understood who you really are. Long before he came home and I saw your legend come to life.

I gave up everything to _be_ Mrs Watson, and it was the best choice I ever made, but you….

You were never meant to be just _Mr_ Watson. Even if that’s what you’d always imagined your life would hold.

Sherlock and I… we’re so alike in some ways, and you’re drowning, John. Drowning in us lying and protecting you the only ways we’ve ever known how; in us apologising for our mistakes and trying to earn back your trust; in us coming to each other’s rescue while you watch and hang back; in us each recognising the other’s place in your life and sharing you so politely; in us loving you but letting you go, managing when you’re gone as though—just because we can get by without you—we don’t need you on our battlefield.

You _need_ someone to need you.

And I’ve upset the balance.

You never needed me, because I’ve never needed you, not really. We chose each other for love, not need, and that is something truly beautiful.

But you’ll get by without me, John. You’ll mourn, you’ll struggle, you’ll rage—and then, once Sherlock gets through to you—you’ll keep going, because Rosie _does_ need you, and he does too.

You say you’re a better man than I give you credit for; oh, _John_ , don’t you think I know that? Do you imagine I’d leave you to fight for my dearest girl all alone, if I didn’t believe you would protect her and guide her and love her more than enough for both of us?

I think of you with her, soldiering on for her sake. I think of you making bottles and changing nappies, walking the floor, trying to put her back to bed. I think of time passing as you grieve and she grows and so do your smiles, until there’s no more bottles and she’s holding her own spoon; until she walks and runs and you’re bandaging her cuts and bruises when she falls. I think of you babbling back and forth with her as she learns to talk, of how carefully you’ll use a picture to teach her to say “Mummy” and how shocked you’ll be when her first word isn’t that—when it isn't even “Daddy”—but when it’s “Sherlock”.

Because I think of Sherlock, serenading her through sleepless nights on the violin; throwing himself into research on how best to stimulate her mind; showing off pictures and obnoxiously bragging about how obviously much more clever she is than all the other children; of him teaching her the cranial bones instead of the colours; of him teaching her how to amaze her friends and terrify her bullies with deductions; of him teaching her to defend herself and be smart; of him nonetheless following in a hoodie and dark glasses to sit in the cinema row behind her and her terrified first boyfriend; of him doing absolutely everything he can to stand between her and any danger; of him filling up the space I might have taken beside you in her life and in her heart, like he always fills up the space in every room. Filling up the space I’ll leave in _your_ heart, like he did before and will again if you let him.

I think of Mrs Hudson and Molly and Mycroft and all the people who love our strange little family, who’ll grieve with you when I’m gone, but will make sure you all pull through. A village, raising our girl to be a strong and smart and independent young woman who'll never lack for her lack of a mother.

And when I think of that country cottage with its rocking chairs side by side... there's only ever two.

I think I might have loved knitting.

But I’ll never find out.

You and Sherlock were both right; I can’t run from it. I can’t leave you behind alone with a promise to come back when the danger has passed. The danger will never pass over me.

Because I’m already dead, John, and every day I’ve lived since I met you—since the moment I chose to tie myself down with a marriage and a baby and a promise to remain Mary Watson no matter who might come looking for me— _every day_ I’ve lived by your side as wife and mother, has been a gift and a blessing.

You’re my whole world, and I wish it wasn't going to break your heart when I go, but I can't regret our time together; can’t be sorry for loving you; can’t be sorry for Rosie’s life, the greatest gift there is.

My gift to you, in return, is _your_ life: every day how it should have been by Sherlock’s side. Every day, being dragged beyond the stifling shadows of mediocrity into the harsh light of the battlefield where you're needed, wanted, loved in a way that brings you to life.

Every day as father, doctor, friend, blogger, adrenaline addict, hero,  _good man..._.

My gift. And my blessing.


End file.
